Rebirth
by Star Shine Pheonix
Summary: This is considered *SLASH* ladies and gentlemen. You don't like it? Don't read it. Simple as that. A countdown to a rebirth of sorts. Most of the fic spans the time of around Two and a half months, from October 15th to January 1st with mention of before,


Title: Rebirth (1/1) (think of a better one let me know.)  
  
Author: Star Shine Pheonix  
  
Pairing: Terry/Bruce (spoken of), Bruce/Barbra(implied), Bruce/Dick(implied), but mostly just a Terry fic. Still: IF YOU DON'T LIKE *SLASH*, DON'T READ THIS.  
  
Rating: Umm PG? PG-13 just to be safe.  
  
Feedback: Of course. *G* Though for this fic I'm a little nervous of what I'm going to get. *L and hides behind my flame shield*  
  
Archive: If you really want it. Just tell me where it's going.  
  
Disclaimer: I don't own 'em. I'm just borrowing them.   
  
Summary: A countdown to a rebirth of sorts. Most of the fic spans the time of around Two and a half months, from October 15th to January 1st with mention of before, during and even after.   
  
Warnings: -*Character Death*-.. Depressing theme... SLASH and.. um.. bad spelling, bad writing, and definitely bad chronology. Oh! And bad grammar.. I have a problem with run on sentences and letting my participles dangle, and probably with repeating things. *grins* Unbataed.  
  
Spoilers: Um.. maybe the whole series? I know there's spoilers for "Return of the Joker" in here.  
  
Author's Notes: I have absolutely no idea where this came from. After all I'm still trying to finish my other fic, but this plot bunny hopped into my head the other night at work, sunk in it's little teeth and absolutely refused to let go till I wrote it down. So here it is.. All I can do is ask forgiveness for this..heh. Any resemblance to any current fic along these lines is completely unintentional, and I make a full apology in advance. Oh, and I never really did care for Timmy Drake, or Dana Tann, so I know I probably write them in a really bad light.  
  
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SEVEN years, four months, two weeks, four days, seven hours, ten minutes and fourteen seconds since he'd finally managed to snare the love of his life. It hadn't been easy, convincing the older man That he did love him. They'd had more fights than he cared to count over the matter, but he'd refused to give up. He'd known wanted what and who he wanted, and was determined to get him. Despite the protests his mentor gave so readily. "Your to young to know what you want." had been the most used denial, along with "It's just a crush, McGinnis. You'll get over it. Go back to kids your own age." Or in his mentors more sedate and self deprecating moments: "I'm an old man. Old and used. You can't tie yourself to someone like me." "You have a whole life ahead of you, you can't tie yourself to someone who's not going to be here for much longer." All of which seemed to well rehearsed after the third or so argument.  
  
He could see the logic in those statements, even looking back at them now, but he knew the older man was more affected than he let on. All the stolen kisses and gropes.. The feel of that larger body pressed to his own. Even just the way his heartbeat had leapt and sped up when the other man was in the room with him, he'd just known it was right. And he had been fighting for what he knew was right for the past six years, he hadn't about been to stop then. And in the end, his persistence had paid off. Barely a month after he graduated from college with both a business and technology degree, both at his mentors insistence, the old man had finally caved in, and let both their urges run free at long last. Terry didn't know when he'd ever felt more relieved than in that one, fantastic moment.  
  
The next two years were the happiest that either of the two men could remember having in a long time. Though the crime rate in Gothem didn't lessen, at times seemed to grow even worse, and the Bat had to still roam the nights and save the lives of the "innocents of Gothem," they still managed to hold tight to their happiness.  
  
TWO Months, eighteen days, 26 minutes, and eighteen seconds since two hearts had stopped beating. One of old age.. One of heartbreak. He'd gotten up earlier than usual that morning going down to the kitchen to prepare an early breakfast for Bruce. Determined to serve a nice little romantic breakfast in bed, despite Bruce's complaints and protests, he knew the older man rather liked the idea, mainly since Terry would be in the bed with him.  
  
Once the tray was prepared with all of the older man's favorite breakfast foods, though all in small portions considering the amount breakfast foods Bruce enjoyed, he headed back up the stairs to their bedroom. He never had really figured out why his lover liked so many different breakfast food, though he guessed that many years of missing breakfast had caught up with him. He'd been a bit surprised when he'd walked back through the door and Bruce hadn't looked up at him. The older man usually awoke the moment Terry crawled out of the bed. He'd set the tray down on the bedside table and bent to wake his lover, though the moment his hand touched the cool flesh, the glass of orange juice he'd carried up with the tray spilled out onto the carpet, numb fingers unable to hold the glass anymore. He'd wondered if the stain would come out.. it was an odd thing to wonder, particularly in a moment such as that, but he supposed it had been his minds way of distracting him, from the sight his eyes were refusing to see... Moving back just a little he'd stared at the still chest, and peaceful face for a moment, before his brain shut down and his body switched to automatic, checking for a pulse, before reaching for the phone and calling a familiar number. His mind still refusing to focus on what was happening when the ambulance had arrived.  
  
TWO Months, fourteen days, twenty-two hours, forty-seven minuets and thirty seconds since he'd watched the coffin being lowered into the ground. It was a wonder they'd allowed Bruce to be buried. The state demanded most bodies be cremated, this day and age. Terry guessed money still did the talking in such matters. Having his own private family cemetery had hurt either. The young man had stood there in the quiet ring of mourners, some he knew, some he didn't, watching them. He'd barely even paid attention to the parting words of the preacher.   
  
His mother had been there, standing to one side, he hadn't been sure what expression she'd held on her face. She'd not been at all happy when she'd found out about Bruce and her son. She'd threatened him. Had threatened Bruce. Had refused to let Matt see him all, had told him he wasn't allowed in her home. Practically disowned him. Though finally, when all was said and done, and the ranting and raving had come to an end, her 'mother's love' had won out. Her sons, she'd said, after all were all she had left. She still wasn't happy. She'd still drop hints about certain pretty girls, or ask about Dana, and even Max. But after two years of knowing, and seeing that no matter how much hinting or prodding, she'd finally stopped and just tried to accept it. Whether she had or not, he wasn't sure even now.  
  
Timothy Drake, one of the Robins, had managed to show up, standing gravely off to one side. He'd looked half saddened, half relieved to see that coffin descend into the ground. Despite the relief reflected on that face, and the pain it added to his own, Terry couldn't help but feel a little sorry for the man. Tim had had a hard time in his life where it concerned Bruce, and the Bat. Both as Robin trying hard to live up to his predecessor and never quite feeling good enough. And then as Tim himself, when the Joker had returned, set on using his body to live again.  
  
Barbara Gordon, the commissioner and once Batgirl, had stood beside him, her hand resting on his shoulder in silent support as they had both stared at the wooden box, that contained his life. He figured she alone could probably most relate to how he was feeling. Batgirl had run with the Bat, and Barbra had run with Bruce. She'd told him about it once, it hadn't been a perfect relationship, and she'd finally had to leave for herself. And he knew, though the relationship had ended many years ago, somewhere down deep inside, she'd still loved him.  
  
There had been another figure there. Terry hadn't been sure, at the time, who he was, he'd stood off under a tree, in what shadows he could find, his face, what could been seen of it, had remained expressionless, but as Terry had finally let himself be led away from the grave, he'd watched the stranger move forward, towards the grave, and kneel beside it. And in his hand, just before Terry had turned away, he'd caught sight of a red rose.  
  
TWO months, twelve days, 20 hours, forty-seven and fifty seconds since they had left, and he'd been given the house, the company, everything. Absolutely everything people had been trying to get out of Bruce for years, through scam's, and all the young hopefuls trying to secure a place in Bruce's bed and with his money. He hadn't wanted any of it. He'd fallen for the older man, because of what the older man was, not what he'd had in his pocketbook. But then, here he was, getting all of it. Everything except what he truly wanted. The one thing he could never have, his lover back.   
  
He'd seen the sneer on the older man's face, Tim Drake. Heard the barely kept low enough snide remarks and veiled innuendos. He known the man wasn't truly so cruel. He hadn't, however, known what had brought it out in him, perhaps a little bit of the Joker had stayed with him, just a little of the more sadistic part. But he'd ignored it for the illusion of peace. Though from that look on Barbra face, he had a feeling Timothy hadn't gotten away with the way he'd acted. Not totally. If he had or if he hadn't, he was gone now, with the one billion left to him and a letter stuffed into the front pocket of his jacket. A letter from Bruce that would probably never be read...   
  
He'd seen the pity in the woman's eyes.. Barbra. But he'd also seen the grief in them. Grief that was almost as deep as his own. He'd known he'd probably be seeing her again. She wasn't the type to just disappear. Especially from the life of the Bat, even if it was a new man behind the cowl. Then again, perhaps he wouldn't be seeing her again. He wasn't sure he has the heart to be Batman any longer. Not with his lover gone and his heart feeling like it'd been crushed. Bruce had used that feeling to fuel the Bat, he wasn't sure he could. Either way, she too gone now with the one billion left to her and her own letter, carefully tucked into her purse.   
  
He'd seen nothing in the third mourner's face.. The oldest man. It had taken him only a few moments to recognize that figure. It had been the one from the Graveyard he hadn't known. Mr. Grayson the lawyer had called him, not that the fellow had answered in anyway. He had just stayed standing silent and aloof near the windows that over look the grounds, as they listened to the lawyer ramble on and on about the legalities and the will.. Never glancing up once until it was time for him to leave. Mr. Grayson... The name struck a cord in Terry's mind and he remembered. *Richard*, better known as Dick, Grayson, the first Robin, turned Nightwing in later life. He'd accepted his billion and letter in the same cold, silent way as he'd done everything else in this matter since he'd entered the house. The only difference was, he'd opened his letter right away and set to reading it as he'd walked out. Never once glancing up at any of them, not even Barbra.  
  
TWO months, eight days, ten hours, eighteen minutes, and twenty-nine seconds since he'd moved his mother out of their old apartment and into the mansion. It'd been a little bit of a struggle at first, but he'd managed to get her to agree to live in the house of the old man who had seduced her precious son, or so she thought, no matter how many times Terry had told her he'd been the one doing the seducing. They'd finally settled on putting her in one of the old rooms on the opposite wing from where his was located. A spacious room, though it appeared that in days gone by it would of been a guest room. Keeping the master bedroom with all it's memories and scents of his lover to himself.   
  
TWO months and seven since he'd entered his room. Not bothering to come out of his room for anything. Even to eat. Hearing his mother and younger brother's almost constant tries to get him to come out and talk with them. He'd heard his mother replying to a couple of his old friends on the phone when they'd called to check on him.   
  
Dana, who'd eventually found out about him and his lover.. And had been livid at the thought that Terry had dumped her for some "perverted old man." Implying all sorts of things, most which were true, but hadn't happened WHEN she was asking if that's what it was all about. All the times he'd broken dates and left in the middle of one, all for Bruce Wayne, his "sugar daddy." She'd hated them both, for the longest time. Though when she'd found a love of her own she'd seemed to mellow out and halfway forgive them. At least that's what Max had told him. Dana hadn't once tried to contact him since that last fight. Instead going through Max who still tried to help out the Bat when she wasn't to busy with her advanced college courses, but the woman sure seemed intent on getting in contact with him now. He didn't see why. Now that his lover was cold in the ground. He knew she couldn't want to get back together with him. According to Max she had a very serious boyfriend. Which was good for her, she needed more than a boyfriend that was only half dedicated to her. He never did find out what she'd wanted. He didn't talk to her.   
  
He didn't even talk to Max. Though she had certainly tried hard enough. Even tried to climb up and through his window when he hadn't opened the door. After finding the window as locked as the door however, she'd stood outside and demanded, threatened and eventually even pleaded, not something that Maxine Gibson did lightly. Maybe he should of talked to her then, let her in and listened to what she had to say and cried everything out on her shoulder, but he didn't. He'd simply closed his curtains and ignored her. He hadn't wanted to see her. He hadn't wanted to see or talk to anyone.  
  
ONE month, twenty-seven days, seventeen hours, and two minutes since he'd come out of his room. Not that it seemed to in improve anything. Where before he could ignore everything and pretend that Bruce was simply away. Perhaps just at some business meeting and would be back soon. Though now, he was forced to remember the truth. His knew his mother was worried about him, but he just couldn't bring himself to do much. Perhaps he should of waited longer to bring her here, but despite how much he'd pushed her away the past few years, and especially these past few days, he'd wanted and needed to know she was close and safe.   
  
Even if that meant putting up with her fussing over him when he just wanted to be left alone. Choosing most of the time to sit in the library, book in hand, and eyes on the page, but unmoving, unseeing. It was quiet, not that the rest of the house wasn't, but the library, like his bedroom, reminded him of Bruce. They'd spent many hours here together. Bruce having him sit with him while he read aloud from one of the many books, or having Terry read to him. Or those times when Terry managed to distract the old man from his books, crawling up into the man's lap as he read, or stretching out on that run in front of the fireplace in all means of of provocative ways until Bruce was unable to read any more, or resist joining him on that rug.  
  
ONE month, thirteen days, five hours and forty-five minutes since he'd knelt down to put fresh flowers on the grave and let the first of his tears fall on to the still fresh dirt and clean headstone. He hadn't been here since the funeral. Not wanting to let himself truly believe it. Though how he could deny it even a little only God knew. Now though, kneeling there, next to that dirt, watching his tears drip off his chin and make tiny puddles of mud, he couldn't deny anything. The cold reality setting in firmly now.  
  
SIX days, three hours, thirty minutes, since he'd knelt down at the grave-side once again, like he had everyday for the past month. Those this day was different. Today, he was here to spend Christmas. He'd stayed in the house and visited with his mom and brother, and even Barbra just long enough to make everyone partially satisfied before slinking off to the graveyard. A small sprig of mistletoe brought with him and reverently placed on the gravestone. It was a remembrance really, an anniversary of sorts that surprisingly enough, Bruce had never forgotten. Their first kiss.  
  
It had been a joke at the time, at least, that's what Terry had said. He'd just come back from a party at a friends, carrying sprig of mistletoe all wrapped up in a red ribbon and attached to a small wire frame, made from a coat hanger, that one of the girls at the party had placed on him. Once he'd gotten to the mansion he'd teased at the old man for a good long while before just plopping the wire frame on his head and leaning in to kiss him. It started as a quick, almost chaste kiss, until large hands had grabbed the back of his head and pulled him in deeper, and he'd known then and there he was a drowned man, and nothing was going to save him. Though Bruce had shoved him away a moment later, tossing the coat hanger holder to the floor before storming up the stairs to his room. They didn't talk about it after that, until after they'd gotten together. Not from lack of trying on Terry's part.  
  
SIX days, two hours, fifteen minutes, and eight seconds since the hand landed on his shoulder, and he looked up into a set of bright, watery, blue eyes set in an old face. The voice that finally emerged from lips that hadn't smiled in many years, shaking just slightly.   
  
"Your not the first to love him." A pause and a small sigh as those eyes turned from him to look down at the grave infront of them. "But you were the last. For that you and he were lucky." Another pause as those eyes looked back to him, something seeming to harden in them, becoming more determined. "He left you his legacy kid." That hand on his shoulder moving up to his cheek just for an instant, just a brief touch, catching another tear as fell from. "As long as the Bat is alive, he'll still be here. Remember that, kid."  
  
SIX days, two hours, twelve seconds since Nightwing walked away, back to his city and life, leavening Terry behind to look back at the gave and think about the words he'd said. Leaving him to remember all that his lover had been through. All that he had taught him. All that he'd done for him. To remember all the love they'd shared between the two of them. And the pain. The shared pain that had caused them both to don the cowl, and become the bat.  
  
ONE minute, three seconds since that clock had struck midnight, and a cheer had gone up through the large crowd that had gathered in the streets and throughout the city in private homes and apartments. All those happy people, both the innocent and the guilty, the criminals and the do gooders, brought together for a single purpose: celebrating the birth of the new year. They'd celebrate through the night and most probably well into the early morning hours. Plenty would happen on that night of drunken revelry Babies would be born, or conceived, loves and lovers would be found or lost, souls would join together, or be separated by the only thing that could truly separate them for long. And through all of this one man would be stay aloof from it, looking down at the city below and wondering at their cheerfulness, though knowing deep inside that someone had to be there to protect it. To keep all of it safe.  
  
ONE minute, four seconds since a heart started beating again, and a life renewed itself. He'd continue on his lover's work. He had to. He had to protect them. Had to keep Batman alive in this city, to shed light and hope onto the lost souls of Gothem. Terry had to make sure that Bruce's work was continued, had to keep more people like himself, and those criminals down there from being created.  
  
TWENTY hours from that moment, the Bat would appear to strike fear into the hearts of criminals once again, and forever more.  
  
**Fin** 


End file.
